


Meaningless

by saturnineIlluminatus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Post-Scratch, Sadstuck, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:18:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnineIlluminatus/pseuds/saturnineIlluminatus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider. You're the producer of over fifteen movies, an older brother and a strifing master. All you want is something to look forward to. But life is slowly becoming meaningless to you.</p><p>And now, with that bottle of pills and glass of whiskey sitting in front of you, you could choose to end it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meaningless

Your name is Dave Strider, and in front of you sits your life in the balance.  
  
There, on the desk next to your latest script, standing under the lamplight like an actor on the set, is a pill bottle and a glass of scotch with ice. You could just drink the scotch, of course, get a buzz going, pass out on the couch like every other night, wake up the next day feeling like shit. Or you could choke down a handful of pills, drink the scotch and pass out. Only you wouldn't wake up. It'd be like a permanent snooze button, no rinsing and repeating ever again.  
  
You're leaning heavily towards the pills.  
  
When all else fails they could blame it on the Batterwitch.  
  
This has been the routine for several weeks now, watching your life hang in the balance like it was some sort of sick game. You had a reason for doing this, though most wouldn't see it that way. In truth, you just didn't want to live anymore. There wasn't any point. You got up every morning, went to work with a cup of coffee in hand, came home late at night to a sleeping little brother. You would drink yourself into a stupor, then stare at the scotch and pills sitting there, just taunting you. The routine was getting tiring now.  
  
You want more to look forward to, more to live for.  
  
You wanted your old friend Rose to love you with the same unconditional love that you held for her, but that was out of the question. She was dead, leaving her only child, who was right around your brother's age, alone with only a few servants and a cat for company. The most contact you've had with the family in the past ten years was a Christmas card, which was probably buried in the trash the apartment was covered in.  
  
You want to spend time with your brother again, just like old times. The brother who'd looked at you through childish eyes as a hero. You were probably still a hero, at least to him. The producer of over fifteen movies? Of course you were. Sometimes, you'd wake up in the middle of the night to see him, alone, pretending to spar against you in the kitchen. It wasn't the same, you were sure, not without another body and the hot cement of the apartment complex's roof.  
  
If only you could go back in time, fix all of your fuck-ups. If you could go back and return the money you'd stolen from some old woman's purse on the subway you would. If you could go back and fix that hotel room mirror you'd shattered on a particularly drunken night you would. If you could go back and treat your little brother like he meant everything in the world to you, to actually make his life meaningful, you definitely would.  
  
But, of course, you couldn't have a single one of those things, so you sat staring, staring at the items that could end your empty life forever.  
  
You reach your hand forward. But instead of grabbing the scotch, you grab the bottle of pills, unscrewing the cap, smiling wryly to yourself.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the flood of Sadstuck. It's all that's been going on in my head all day.


End file.
